I blinked at him. He might have liked to believe otherwise, but it was clear the wild part of him was far from tamed. And as much as John might have wanted to pretend that this place was my home, it wasn’t.
The palace was a prison. He was the warden … even if he was a warden who was only holding me captive for the best of reasons, to keep me safe from my own relatives.
“You don’t need to shake the place down,” I said reprovingly. “A simple no will suffice.”
He looked a little sheepish. When he spoke again, it was in a much gentler tone.
“I’m sorry. Force of habit.” He gave me another one of his heart-stopping smiles, then extended his palms. “I know something that will make you feel better.”
If I hadn’t been looking down at that exact moment, I wouldn’t have believed my eyes. I’d have thought he’d made a sleight of hand, pulled it from his sleeve like a magician.
He wasn’t wearing any sleeves, though, and he was no magician. He’d almost killed two men in my presence using nothing but his fingertips. He traveled back and forth between two dimensions, his world and mine, far more easily than other people commuted to and from work, because he didn’t need to use public transportation, or even a car. He just blinked, and poof. It was done.
“There,” he said. “What do you think?”
I … I don’t understand,” I said, looking down at the small white creature that nestled in his hands.
“She’s for you,” John explained, still smiling. “To keep you company when I’m away. I know how you love birds.”
He was right about that. I had a weakness for animals of any kind, especially the sick and injured. It was how John and I had met, in the Isla Huesos Cemetery, when he’d come across me weeping inconsolably over a wounded bird. I’d been all of seven years old, but he’d been exactly the same as he was now — the age at which he’d died and become the death deity of the Underworld beneath Isla Huesos.
In an effort to stop my childish tears, he’d taken the bird’s limp body from me. A second later, it had flown off, its life magically restored by him.
How could either of us have known then that it was my grandmother who had purposefully injured the creature, using it to lure me into meeting John not only that first time, but a second time, as well?
That second time, since I had been fifteen and not a child, a different kind of magic had occurred … the kind that can happen between any two people who find themselves attracted to each other.
The only problem was, that time it had been me, and not the bird, who’d died. And it was here, in the Underworld, that we’d encountered each other.
Back then, I’d been much too frightened of this place — and of him, and of my feelings for him — to think of staying.
Everything was different now, I realized. Now I only felt frightened of losing him the way I had in my terrible nightmare …
… and of how quickly he was able to banish that feeling with his kisses, the way he had when I’d woken in his arms. But that fear was a whole other issue.
I guess, considering our history, I could hardly blame him for believing that a pet bird would banish all my fears. The bird in his hands now looked very much like the one from the day we’d met … some kind of dove, but with black feathers beneath her wings and tail. My mother would have known exactly what type of bird she was, of course. It was from her that I’d inherited my love for animals.
“Is this the same bird…?” I let my voice trail off. Doves don’t live that long, do they? This one looked as bright-eyed and alert as the one that day in the cemetery. She was even cooing softly.
Unlike that day in the cemetery, however, when John uncupped his hands, this bird didn’t instantly unfold her wings and fly away. She stood and peered about, taking in her surroundings, including me. I couldn’t help letting out a soft “Ooh!” of delight.
John smiled, pleased that his gift was a success.
“No, that was a wild bird that returned to its mate after we released it. This one is tame, see?” He held out his finger, and the bird butted her face against it, smoothing her feathers. “But she does look a little like that bird, which is why I thought you’d like her. Why? Would you prefer a wild bird?” His eyebrows constricted. “I could find one for you. But then it would have to stay in a cage to keep it from flying away. I didn’t think you’d like that….”
“No,” I said hastily. I wouldn’t like that. Then there’d be two of us who were prisoners.
But I thought it better not to say this second part out loud.
“That’s good,” John said, holding the bird towards me. “You’ll have to think of a name for her.”
“A name?” I stretched out a finger, as John had done, to see if the bird would rub her head against it. “I’ve never named an animal before. I wasn’t allowed to have any pets growing up. My father always said he was allergic.”
Now John’s eyebrows lifted. “Allergic? Even to birds?”
“Well,” I said, thinking of the oil spill my dad’s company was responsible for, and had recently had to clean up. “Allergies are sometimes an excuse he uses for anything messy he doesn’t want to have to deal with.”
Instead of rubbing my finger with her head, the bird stretched out her wings, fluttered them a few times, then flew away. I let out a cry of dismay, thinking that she wasn’t as tame as John had thought, and that she was going to escape.